


To Some Other Moon

by clawstoagunfight



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dog Jokes, Implied Underage, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 14:28:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clawstoagunfight/pseuds/clawstoagunfight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn’t that he likes Peter—because Peter still creeps him out more than a little; what, with the coming back from the dead bit—but more and more lately, it feels to Stiles like Peter is the only one that realizes how much he has to offer. Maybe it started the night Peter offered him the bite. Maybe that was the catalyst for…whatever this was now. He never told anyone Peter offered him the bite. It was something special and private between them. It was their secret. But it wasn’t the only one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Some Other Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Un beta'd, so all of the mistakes are mine! 
> 
> Written for my best friend, B, because she asked nicely.

It isn’t that he likes Peter—because Peter still creeps him out more than a little; what, with the coming back from the dead bit—but more and more lately, it feels to Stiles like Peter is the only one that realizes how much he has to offer. Because Stiles does have a lot to offer, really. Because he’s, y’know, _awesome._ Peter is the only one that seems to be catching on to that particular train of thought. Stiles isn’t complaining though. As much as he doesn’t really like Peter, he doesn’t really hate him either. It’s like there’s a begrudging respect—the dude somehow managed to come back from the dead, and _fuck_ if Stiles doesn’t want to pick his brain about how he learned about that—and maybe just a little bit…extra. He doesn’t really know what it is. Maybe it started the night Peter offered him the bite. Maybe that was the catalyst for…whatever this was now. He never told anyone Peter offered him the bite. It was something special and private between them. It was their secret. But it wasn’t the only one.

-

It’s official. Werewolves don’t know how to use doors. And doors, they are a thing. A Thing Stiles likes a lot. A thing that normally means _privacy_ and _keeps people out when they aren’t wanted inside_. But that means nothing to a werewolf. Because windows are a thing too. Who knew?

Stiles is less than amused when he hears the window start to open. As much as the wolves thought so, Stiles was not at their beck and call all hours of the day. He had a life. Well, okay, he was _trying_ to have a life, but still. He would at least appreciate the appearance of common courtesy. But he looks up when a body is suddenly on this side of the glass and is closing the window behind him. He rolls his eyes. What is Stiles thinking? There’s no way Peter would ever allow him courtesy of any kind.

Stiles sets the book he was reading down and glares at Peter. “What are you doing here? The rest of the pups kick you out of the dog house?” Stiles laughs at his own joke, because he’s _hilarious_ , okay, but Peter just cocks his head, pinning Stiles with his ice blue eyes.

“Dog jokes again. Really?” Peter rolls his eyes and Stiles bristles just a little.

Stiles sits up just a little straighter. “Hey, you’re the one that came crawling through my window like an animal, _dude_. Maybe I should just install one of those doggie doors so you guys can come and go as you please, since you all insist on acting like creeps and invading my _private_ _space_ and _alone time_.” He huffs and goes to pick up his book again.

But suddenly Peter is there, all but ripping the book from his grasp. He has a hand under Stiles’ chin, forcing him to look up into pale eyes. His mouth twists, into what may be a smirk, but it’s more menacing, and Stiles heart starts to beat a little faster. “I can act like an animal if you really want me to, _Stiles._ ” Peter leans forward then, his nostrils flaring and—oh, oh, he is sniffing Stiles. Yeah, not creepy at all, dude. “And I don’t _crawl_. I saunter.”

Stiles just drops his jaw, because yeah. He does kind of, but Stiles doesn’t really want to admit that to him. Because, hello, it’s _Peter_ and Stiles doesn’t know if he even likes the guy as a _person_ , but he does admire his swagger—or at least admires the view as he _saunters_ away.

Peter is leaning down then, his hand firm on Stiles’ jaw and his lips are brushing against the shell of Stiles’ ear and he’s whispering, “Close your mouth before I have to put something in it,” before he leans back to look at Stiles.

Stiles doesn’t give him a chance to say anything else though, because he is grabbing Peter’s wrist and taking his hand off his jaw. Peter is close, staring intently at Stiles, his blue eyes glowing a little bit brighter than normal as Stiles takes Peter’s index finger into his mouth. They’ve done this enough times by now that Stiles knows just what to do, knows what Peter likes.

He sucks his finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip, swiping it over the slightly salty skin. Peter growls low in his throat and it makes Stiles moan, before he’s sucking another finger into his mouth. Stiles won’t admit it, but he loves this, loves taking whatever part of Peter he can into his mouth. He loves sucking and licking on the older man’s skin. He loves what it does to him, loves how he can bring out the barely controlled animal just lurking beneath the surface.

It isn’t long before Peter shoves his back against the bed and takes his fingers away, replacing them with his tongue as he straddles Stiles’ hips. Peter is hard already. He bucks against Stiles and licks into his mouth. The kiss is sloppy and open and hot and dirty and everything Stiles has come to crave. Peter’s hands are under Stiles’ t-shirt, hiking it up so he can scrape his nails down Stiles’ sides. Stiles gasps into the kiss, not having to look to know that there are red lines on his skin. Peter does it again and Stiles shivers. The kiss is broken and Stiles’ shirt is being tugged up and over his head, but his back is still on the mattress and it gets stuck covering his face, trapping his arms. It seems that was Peter’s plan, because he makes no move to disengage Stiles tangled shirt. Instead, his mouth moves to cover one of his nipples, licking over it, blowing cool air onto it, before he bites down. It’s almost too hard, just this side of too much, but Stiles loves it. He bucks his hips up, rubbing himself against the hardness that he finds. Peter growls again before his nails are back, scraping lines down Stiles’ chest, over and over, from collar bone to pelvis.

Stiles whimpers; he honest to god whimpers. “Peter, I need to see you. Please.” He hates begging. He really does. But there’s something about being with Peter that makes him want to. “Please.” He says again and it earns a chuckle before the weight above him is removed. He groans at the loss, his hips bucking into empty air. He hears the rustle of clothes. He bites his lip when he feels fingers at the fly of his jeans. They unzip him slowly, before they pull his pants and underwear off in one smooth motion. The body is back above him, but this time Stiles feels nothing but smooth, naked skin against his own when Peter straddles his hips. The shirt is slipped completely off him and he can see Peter’s face for a second before his lips are crashing back down, silencing the little moans Stiles wasn’t even aware he was making.

The kiss doesn’t last as long this time, and before Stiles can protest the movement, Peter is climbing up his body, settling himself above Stiles shoulders. Stiles stares at Peter’s cock for all of two seconds before the never-ending urge to take Peter into his mouth overcomes him and he’s salivating and licking his lips before he reaches up to grasp it and takes the head into the wet heat of his mouth.

Stiles closes his eyes at the moan that escapes Peter’s mouth. It’s loud and deep and sounds so, so dirty. The older man runs his fingers through Stiles’ hair and Stiles takes him in deeper, moving his head so the angle is better. He sucks on the smooth, velvety skin of his cock, licks it like candy. Peter is like an addiction. He was a goner at the first taste, and now he’d do anything for more. He moves one of his hands to cup the man’s balls and opens his eyes, looking up over the long, muscled line of Peter’s pale body to meet his eyes as he takes all of him into his mouth, relaxes his throat until his lips touch the fluff of soft dark hair at the base of him. The grip on his hair goes tight, hard, and Stiles moans around the cock in his throat before he’s sucking in earnest, up and down on the shaft, lapping up the precum that settles on Peter’s head, swallowing it down like the sweetest candy, before Peter pulls his head back against the mattress with a hard tug to his hair.

Stiles is breathing hard, looking up between the flushed red cock just out of the reach of his mouth, and the taunt, solid bulk of Peter’s neck and shoulder muscles further up. He’s looking down at Stiles and lifts the corner of his mouth up into a smirk that makes Stiles flush and look away from the knowing gleam in his eyes.

“So eager,” he says, moving off of Stiles to lie down beside him. He strokes his face, thumb tracing over his parted lips, and leans in to nibble at Stiles’ earlobe, “always so eager to suck on my cock.” He hums and Stiles visibly shudders. Peter runs his hand down over Stiles’ torso, fingers trailing over the red marks that are still visible, until he comes to Stiles’ jutting cock and grasps it firmly, circling his fingers tight around it until Stiles is whimpering once again.

Peter removes his hand at the sound and sits up, opening the bedside drawer to fish out the bottle of lube and one of the condoms that Stiles started keeping there after the first time. Peter lies back down and Stiles is automatically rolling onto his side. Peter scoots closer behind him, until Stiles can feel the solid line of heat at his back, feel the still-wet tip of his cock settle against his ass cheek. Peter moves down a little and snakes an arm under Stiles’ thigh, lifting it up and spreading Stiles open for him. He hears the pop of the cap and only waits a moment before the cool press of slicked fingers is working his hole open. One finger first, moving into him in one fluid motion that makes Stiles wince just a little as the initial burn of the stretch registers. It moves inside of him, curls and stretches and catches just the edge of his prostate and Stiles is moaning and reaching back to rest his hand on Peter’s hip. It isn’t long before Peter adds a second finger and once again presses his fingertips against that spot and Stiles’ hips are bucking into empty air, his cock twitching up against his abdomen. He doesn’t even wince when the third finger slides in, still riding the little shock of pleasure Peter’s fingers elicited from his body.

He does wince when the fingers leave, just a little, groaning at the feeling of loss for a moment. But only for a moment. He knows what is coming next, knows that soon he’ll have Peter’s hard cock inside of him and it will be so much better than a few fingers. He doesn’t have to wait long. He hears the snap of the cap again, hears the sound of lube slicking up hard skin and plastic being ripped before Peter pulls Stiles closer, so there is barely any room between their bodies and Stiles’ leg is hiked up, his knee caught in the crook of Peter’s elbow. Peter is pressing the head of his cock into his ass and Stiles is throwing his head back against Peter’s shoulder and moaning his name as the cock opens him up, all wet and warm and pulsing and hard as it stretches him, slides slickly inside.

They both moan when Peter works his way all the way inside, when he pulls out and cants into the first hard thrust that leaves Stiles a little breathless and desperately wanting more.

“Peter. Peter, please. Fuck me, just _fuck_ me,” He sounds a little wrecked, a little broken, but he doesn’t care because Peter is making a sound that Stiles thinks might be a whimper and is bucking up sharply, cutting off Stiles’ pleas as he takes a relentlessly hard, fast, deep rhythm that makes stars start in Stiles eyes every time he slams against his prostate. He knows he could come just from this, just from the feel of Peter inside of him, the head of his cock dragging over his prostate again and again. The rhythm is gets harder, rougher, and the line between pleasure and pain is starting to blur until suddenly Stiles feels a warm hand fisting his cock, pulling, working it at a pace that mirrors the slick way Peter is moving inside of him.

Stiles is writhing, shuddering at the feel of too many sensations. It’s almost overwhelming, like it always is. Peter knows just what to do to make him just as wild as the wolf, knows how to touch him and take and give pleasure. Stiles is breathing hard, arching his back, twisting until he can see Peter’s face. Peter is looking at him from inches away and then their lips crash together, the kiss hot and messy as always, all tongue and teeth that leave spikes of pleasure shooting up Stiles’ spine. Peter bites Stiles’ bottom lip, hard, and Stiles cums, body going rigid before a convulsion sweeps over him and he is left trembling as Peter still thrusts into him, harder, faster, losing his rhythm, canting his hips into his ass as Stiles’ muscles clench around him. Peter’s hand is still on his cock, milking the last of Stiles’ orgasm from him. Stiles lifts an arm to grab a fistful of Peter’s hair. He moves his mouth back down, kisses him deeply. Peter lets out a long, low growl before his cock is moving once, twice, and he’s cumming too, frantic and desperate before he stills, breathing hard against Stiles’ neck.

They stay like that for a few minutes, settling their breathing before Stiles moves, pulling off of the cock still inside of him so he can turn over and face the older man. Stiles looks at him and he looks back, breathing still a little ragged. He grins at Peter and he smiles back. Like, an honest to god smile that makes Stiles just a little dizzy. Peter looks younger like this, relaxed, eyes half-lidded, a smile working at his lips. Stiles leans down and presses his head against his chest, wrapping an arm around his waist. He nuzzles against the skin and sighs.

“So,” he starts a few minutes later, “do you think you’d actually fit through a doggie door? Because that would be, like, such easier access for a booty call. I mean, I do lock my window _sometimes_ —”

“Shut up, Stiles.” Stiles doesn’t have to see him to know that he’s rolling his eyes, but he just wraps his arms around Stiles and holds him tighter.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, any and all comments and/or criticisms are accepted and appreciated!


End file.
